A Perfect Portmanteau
by ringoeater
Summary: Haruno Sakura, top of her class, stronger and faster (and weirder) than most her age, a spring of youth and beauty and intelligence... runs away to join the circus? And she somehow manages to make unusual friends along the way.
1. An Unfortunate Beginning

**EEEEYYY! And so on.**

**So I was sitting and minding my own business (or not) when inspiration struck and knocked me off my bed. Or maybe it was just clumsiness.**

**We may never know.**

**But anyway, as this inspiration is too elaborate to type out in a one-shot, which is my normal style, I'll be uploading it in chapters instead. **

**EXCITEMENT! We'll just have to see if anyone actually reads it!**

**Disclaimer: You'd definitely know it if I owned Naruto. (Which is to say... I don't. Yet. (Muhahahaha.))**

* * *

The day started out as a lovely one.

Haruno Sakura was awakened rudely by her obnoxious alarm clock, per usual; six A.M., on the dot. She endured this for approximately eight minutes before rolling over and slamming her fist down on the offending object.

She then spent the next few moments mourning the loss of an inanimate technology- or, rather, the money it would cost to replace it.

Then she stretched and popped and crackled and she hauled herself out of bed and she peeled back the simple shade that kept the wretched sunlight out, though it was presently still dark outside. Nevertheless, she greeted the oncoming dawn with her normal radiance: namely, with a half-hearted twist of her lips and an incoherent mumble.

And then she quit the BS and went the hell back to bed.

Thus was the exhilarating life of an adolescent.

Eventually, our exuberant young protagonist regained consciousness long enough to check the alarm clock and, upon re-discovering the sorry state that it had assumed, fumbled for the old, cracked cell phone that sat just beside it.

6:47.

Sakura did a double-take and staggered gracelessly out of bed once more, slightly alarmed that her father hadn't stormed in and dragged her down to stuff some oatmeal down her throat. He always insisted on eating breakfast together every day, after all. She knew it was because they rarely, if ever, ate dinner at the same table. He worked late and drank even later, and by the time he came home, he was either too exhausted or too drunk off his ass to function. She could hardly blame him- the life they lived was a hard one, what with the slippery job he'd managed to hang on to and the part-time one that she herself worked when she wasn't studying or practicing martial arts (only one of which she actually enjoyed... and it wasn't studying). Between the both of them, they'd managed to save up just enough to afford the dank, tiny apartment they currently occupied and the measly meals that sustained them.

It was difficult, but they had each other and sometimes that was all that mattered.

But sometimes, she couldn't help but wryly think that if perhaps he managed to refrain from spending so much money at the dingy bar down the street, maybe, just maybe, they'd have a little more to live off of.

And she wasn't unaware of the extent their situation had stretched, either. She'd gotten many an angry phone call with the caller spitting out unthinkably violent threats and demands for their money back. She had approached her father about it once, but he'd feigned ignorance and she'd had no choice but to go along with it.

She went to sleep afraid and woke up terrified.

But here she was, seventeen years old and nearly done with high school. She had survived somehow, and so far no knife-bearing maniacs had lurked at her door and mugged her.

But we've veered off-topic just slightly. And so back to the present, where our heroine inches towards the door frame. The entire apartment itself consisted of four rooms- one of which wasn't a room at all, merely a cramped arrangement of culinary essentials they affectionately called "the kitchen"- and one of them was all hers. When they had first moved in, she had adamantly refused to take it and persisted in sleeping in the main room. And so she did, until her father continually snuck over in the middle of the night, carried her to the other room, and slept in the main one himself. At first, she was furious and humiliated, but she finally caved to his pleas and, eventually, even decorated it to her tastes.

Sakura slid the door aside a fraction and peeked out, every muscle in her body tensed in anticipation. The lights were all flipped off and silence roared in her straining ears. Not even a whisper of a sound. But her blood still pounded through her veins, and her nerves were abuzz with fright. She stood for a long while, and when she had managed to pluck up enough of her courage, she slammed the door open and bellowed, "_HA!_"

Nothing. Not a stir.

She relaxed and padded across the room to the light switch, which she flicked on, and whirled around to the mass of futon and father in the corner, where she cheerfully proceeded to draw her leg back and snap it forward.

Her foot forwent contact with flesh to collide with the wall instead.

Passionate cursing ensued, along with the thumping of a jumping teenage girl clutching at an abused big toe. Her disgruntled downstairs neighbors thumped back with a broom handle.

Blinking tears of agony from her eyes, Sakura regarded the crumpled heap of blankets on the ground wearily and nudged them aside with her (throbbing, tender) foot.

Well, no wonder her foot had went right through the space.

There was _nothing there_.

Sakura ripped the covers off the futon in one panicked jerk and was left staring down at a seemingly innocent piece of paper staring harmlessly back at her.

She snatched it up shakily and scanned it hastily. Then, when she reached the end, she went back and read it again, more slowly this time. And after she had done that, she read it again, and again, and again.

And then she let it slide from her grasp, and she herself slid down and put her knees to her chest and her head in her hands.

* * *

_My dearest Sakura,_

_I'm sorry. I couldn't do it.  
__Don't worry. I'm searching for a better life. When I've found it, I'll come back for you.  
__Just do your best until then. I believe in you._

_Love,  
__Papa._

_P.S. Oatmeal's on the table._

* * *

**Alriiiighhht! My very first chaptered fanfic ever! I'm all fired up! **

**...As Natsu would say.**

**I love Spring Break. Almost as much as I love sleep. Or spell-check.**

**What's that, small voice in my head? "Review or die"? No, no, no, that would scare all the nice people away.**

**On the other hand... well.**

**Kidding! Reviews are just the substance of my soul, the light in the darkness of my stifling reality, but really, pay no heed to me! I'll just curl up here and whimper as my world constricts around me.**

**I mean... I guess you _could_...**

**No pressure~.**


	2. Looking Back

**See! I told you there would be chapters! Hahaa!**

**And you all thought...**

**Well, anyhoo, spring break is almost over, to my complete and utter dismay. Boooo.**

**I had to take the SAT too. Words cannot describe my undiluted horror.**

**Butbutbut! I'm planning on going to Anime Matsuri for the next three days and I'm so EXCITED. AHHHHHHHH.**

**Well, disregarding that, the plot continues. I'll try to upload chapters every few days (if anyone ends up reading this) but I can't make promises when school starts again...**

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: All I own is my precious, precious laptop. And Listerine. **

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After Sakura had gotten over her shock, she mechanically walked over to the oatmeal sitting undisturbed on the little table that squatted in the center of the main room and knelt down. She numbly lifted the spoon with a trembling hand, scraped some of the stuff from the bowl, and brought it to her lips.

It was soggy.

And cold.

Something broke.

And it wasn't just the spoon in her hand.

She sat very still... and her hand flashed over the table.

The oatmeal ended up on the opposite wall.

She didn't remember too much of the morning after that. She withdrew and let her physical self take out all of its hurt, disbelief, and rage on the things that she and her father had worked so very hard to attain.

She came to in the middle of a very messy room. Pillows were shredded to pieces, the glass from their sole lamp was strewn across the floor, the table was a mass of splinters, their so-called "kitchen" was now thrown all over the place.

And she still didn't feel any better.

She found a small area of the room that hadn't felt the full wrath of her fists and sank down, fingers curled harshly in her hair. She could feel herself starting to hyperventilate and she immediately began trying to slow her breathing and her rapid heartbeat along with it.

Then her logic reammerged and her brain began to retain basic functioning capabilities.

She couldn't stay here. Her father and she could barely afford this place to begin with, and now that the only major source of income was probably cut off for good- he had probably lost his job a while ago, she reasoned- she would certainly be kicked out soon anyway. There weren't many things of importance to salvage from the chaos of the living room, so she clambered slowly to her feet and dragged herself to her room and ransacked her own drawers for practical articles of clothing to take. Though it pained her greatly to leave behind the beautiful navy blue dress that she had saved up so long for, leave it behind she did. It would serve little to no purpose for her, wherever she ended up. But she couldn't bear to leave behind some of the small baubles she had collected here and there over the years, so she tossed them into her messenger bag.

Then, she dropped down next to her futon and peeled the edge back, and, using an old fork she kept under her pillow (as both a makeshift lever and a weapon- sharp is sharp, after all) and her fingernails, wrenched a panel of wood from its place in the floor, revealing a small cavity. Sakura reached in and withdrew a wad of bills that had very slowly compiled from the money left over from living expenses. It wasn't much, but it would get her somewhere.

She also checked around the apartment in the hopes that her father had left her with any money or clue as to where he had gone, but no such luck. Sakura decided that when she found him, she would see to it that he would experience an immense pain and possibly lose the ability to produce children. One stone, two birds.

Next were toiletries. She and her father had shared the tiny restroom that sat at the back of their apartment and she stumbled to it, mechanically grabbing the necesseties of hygiene maitenence. Her father, oddly enough, hadn't seemed to have touched any of it. Evidently, sanitation was not a major priority to him. Well, more for her. Toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo... hopefully there would be a means of bathing, wherever the hell she was going...

She froze abruptly and a slightly hysterical giggle bubbled from her lips. Where would she go? Where _could_ she go? She had only a small handful of friends- mostly aquaintences- and she would be damned if she approached them and asked permission to freeload. Some of them were in an equally hard spot financially, and she simply didn't know any one of them well enough to ask such an enormous favor. Only one person at her school really cared about her, and the last thing she wanted was for her to fret and stress over Sakura.

Furrowing her brow and shaking the troubled thoughts from her head, she continued to sweep things into her bag. If worse came to worst, she would just have to sleep on the park bench or something. Even if it was frigid outside.

_Brrr_.

She'd pack some blankets for good measure.

Sakura moved to leave the bathroom and paused at the doorway, glancing back over her shoulder. Then she sighed and strode back to the sink. She opened the single drawer just beneath it, grabbed a battered strip of black cloth, and wrapped it around her head headband-style and tied it at the nape of her neck. The cloth had been a gift from a friend from long, long ago, a friend whose face blurred in her memory and whose voice still rang in her ears. Sakura remembered her hair vividly: bright as a sunflower's petals and glossy as gold.

She glanced at her reflection in the mirror; a pale, petite girl, jade eyes wide and weary, with dark bruises of sleepless nights hanging just beneath them. Her lips were thin with worry, and her light pink hair hung lank, barely brushing her shoulders. She impatiently blew a strand of it out of her eyes and turned and walked out of the bathroom with a sense of finality, slamming the door behind her.

The kitchen was still lying dissembled on the floor, but she didn't have much of a problem locating their fridge, which wasn't much bigger than a small cooler. She quickly threw all of the more durable foods into a seperate knapsack. She also took the half-full (half-empty?) jug of water and set it aside to take with her. Unfortunately, food from the fridge wouldn't last long, but she would just have to eat the fresher stuff first.

They kept all the other food in a tiny cupboard attached just above the stove, which she had sent flying across the room in her fit of rage, but thankfully, the contents seemed, for the most part, unharmed. Sakura wasted no time in dumping everything she deemed edible into the bag.

She kind of felt like she was preparing for the zombie apocalypse.

A quiet laugh escaped her.

Lastly, she walked back to her room and pulled a picture frame off the box she used as a nightstand. Her father and mother smiled up at her through faded blacks and whites and grays, looking as if they didn't have a care in the world other than the stomach of Mrs. Haruno, which was swollen with child. Sakura wanted nothing more than to hurl it across the room and stomp on it for good measure (_that stupid goddamn bastard, when I find him-_) but she reigned in the urge admirably and stuffed it into her messenger bag. Then, as a second thought, she went back to the living room, found their one can opener, pulled a can of tuna from her bag, and pried it open. She set it just outside the apartment door. After all, if she didn't feed the ugly old tabby that prowled the complex, who would? Her horrible downstairs neighbors sure as hell wouldn't.

Finally, she slung her knapsack across her back and draped her messenger bag from her shoulder. She briefly entertained the idea of throwing it all into a trash bag and leaving like that, but she quickly discarded the thought- she was going for inconspicuous teenage runaway, after all. She didn't want to look like she'd just robbed someone.

At the threshold of the entryway, Sakura gazed back at the home- at the life- she was leaving behind. She had no idea if she would ever come back to this place again, sleep on the same bed, sit at the same table. She had grown up here and would have had to leave eventually, she knew, but she never imagined it would be like this, under these circumstances. Anger once more surged beneath her skin, but she closed her eyes and turned, took two steps forward, and shut the door behind her.

The world stared her in the face.

* * *

**Well, there it is! Personally, I didn't like it as much as the first chapter, but that's what I get for writing half of it at four in the morning.**

**Details.**

**Pssst, scroll down. Lower. Eeeeven lower. See that button right there? The one that says "Review"? **

**...Click it.**

**Or don't. Or do. It's up to you.**

**I'm a regular poet!**


	3. A Place of Horrors

WHOA! Been a while, Internet!

However, I have several good excuses! School, job, school, college prep, school, standardized tests, and school are just a few of them!

Where would I be without music?

On a completely unrelated note, I saw Reika at Anime Matsuri in March! SQUEAL.

**Disclaimer:** If only.

* * *

Sakura hated school.

If the stress it induced wasn't enough of a reason for such a strong resentment, the people who attended it were certainly enough to seal the deal.

But it should first be said that high school, contrary to popular belief and portrayal in most media, was not, in fact, a wilderness in which hormone-crazed teenagers gathered into packs to scheme and jeer and rip others' throats out. The student didn't smirk and sneer and all agree to mutually pick on that one quiet girl that sits in the back and actually pays attention to everything the teacher is spewing.

In reality, it was much worse than that.

High-schoolers almost never truly banded together: they simply pretended to. Students would form their groups (though they were not half so aggressive about it as television seemed to claim) and they would act accepting of others and happy where they were, in their rightful places. They were, after all, respected here- their sense of humor was appreciated, they had things in common with those around them, et cetera.

But as Sakura knew too well, teenagers are never satisfied.

These people seemed content, yet they were more hostile towards those closest to them than the strangers who they passed everyday in the hallways. They'd smile at a friend, and as soon as their back was turned, snap about them to another. And it wasn't always gossip. Personal opinions, grudges, pet peeves- anything that didn't appeal to them at that precise moment, and they would open fire. Teenagers were terrifying people and they made the best actors.

And subtlety was their most terrifying characteristic.

Regardless, at approximately 1:15, Sakura arrived, sweaty and out of breath, at the front gates of her high school. She normally took the bus in the mornings, as the transportation was free, but it was, of course, much too late by then. And so she had subjected herself to more than an hour of huffing and puffing along the cracked, uneven pavement, dragging along her hefty bags stuffed full of what felt like rocks. She took a few breaks along the way, but people kept shooting her suspicious glances, so she never sat in one place for long.

It was awful weather, too. If it had been warm, she wouldn't have minded so much, but as it was very much not so, she experienced the worst kind of tired: the kind where every breath of air feels like someone's slicing through your lungs with an icicle.

Unpleasant was an understatement.

Nevertheless, she had made it, more or less in one exhausted piece. She didn't know what to do with her bags, and was much too tired to care, so she stomped into the school and made her way to the dreaded principal's office. She was grateful that all the students were in sixth period; she would have found herself being scrutinized under scathing glares of curiosity had they not been.

She finally found herself standing- or, rather, doing her damnedest to keep herself upright- in front of the door, swung it open unceremoniously, made her way to the councilors' lobby, walked up to the secretary, and, without preamble, announced, "I need to see Tsunade-sama."

The woman looked up, her black eyes wide and startled, and her face brightened in recognition. "Sakura! How are you?"

Sakura tried for a smile. "I'm fine. How about you, Shizune?"

If Shizune noticed the unnatural lilt to the student's lips, she gave nothing away. She simply beamed back up and nodded.

"I think Tsunade-sama is in a meeting right now, but if you'd care to sit down, I'm sure she'll be with you shortly." Sakura could see her eyeing the bizarre arrangement of baggage on her person, and when Shizune opened her mouth to ask, she uttered a quick "Thank you" and sat herself firmly on the chair farthest from her.

She amused herself by twisting her hair absently around her finger and picking at her cuticles idly; this went on for more than ten minutes until the door to the Principal's Office finally swung open. A boy her age, with dark features stark against pale skin, strode out, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Their gazes locked for a brief moment, hers innocuous and intrigued, his cold and brooding, before he sauntered out accompanied by silence and a slightly menacing aura about him.

His eyes reminded her of blood.

Sakura tore her own eyes from his retreating back and turned forward once more to see Principal Tsunade, running her fingers through her disheveled hair and mumbling under her breath. As soon as she caught sight of Sakura, something about her softened, and she grinned warmly at her and put her hands on her hips.

"If it isn't Sakura. Long time no see, kiddo. Why haven't you been visiting this poor old woman?"

It took a lot of willpower for Sakura to keep from rolling her eyes and scoffing. If this beauty, with her smooth, creamy skin and her plump, perfect lips and her astonishingly enormous chest was considered an "old woman", what did that make those two batty advisers of hers?

Tsunade was in front of her in a flash and swept her up in a hug. Then, as soon as she set her down on her feet again, her smile turned rather feral and her fist flashed towards Sakura.

A boom resounded through the halls, and in the lobby, Tsunade's knuckles had lodged themselves deep into the maroon walls. The cumbersome bags were strewn about the floor and Sakura's head was tilted a fraction to the right, narrowly missing Tsunade's curled fingers; she was flashing an equally savage smile back up at her.

"Careful there, Master," Sakura warned lightly, tsking in mock disapproval. "If you keep this up, you'll end up hurting yourself, you know."

"Don't underestimate these old bones, youngster. I'll have you know that I drink plenty of milk every day and-"

"Hey, did you hear that? Sounded like a crack. Besides, all you drink is alcohol."

"True enough. Be a dear and help me get my fist out of this wall, won't you? This poor, frail body-"

"Weren't you just assuring me your bones were strong like steel? You old women sure do change your minds a lot, don't you?"

"And you angsty youngsters are sure quick to put words in others' mouths! I never said anything about steel!"

Sakura laughed, her spirits lifted slightly at the familiar bantering between teacher and student, master and disciple. Tsunade had been a good drinking buddy of her father's; he ended up asking her to become Sakura's godmother, and at his request she had taught Sakura everything she knew about all kinds of martial arts. Tsunade was also a renowned and well-respected doctor, known throughout the country, but she had decided to take a break and ended up becoming the principal of a high school. Sakura had idolized her when she was younger. Now, she studied as hard as she could to get into medical school, where she could become the same (except for the principal part: if she had to spend more time than was necessary in this hellhole, she'd shoot herself).

Well, until now.

What would happen to that dream now that her father was gone? He had paid for her schooling, after all, and she sure as hell wouldn't be able to make enough on her own to pay for it herself. As far as she knew, she didn't even have a college fund. She was certain that if she asked Tsunade, she'd be more than willing to pay for her education, mother figure that she was, but what then? There was no way she could ask her to pay for college, and what was the point of finishing high school if she wasn't able to go any further?

That was why she was here in the first place, she supposed. She wasn't too sure about the policy regarding truancy, but she didn't want to take any chances. She'd come here to officially withdraw herself from school, nice and neat.

That train of thought sobered her somewhat, and she must have showed it, because Tsunade's face grew somber and she beckoned her into her office, helping Sakura with her bags and piling them in a corner inside. She shut the door behind them and sat behind an enormous ancient desk, piled with stacks upon stacks of papers and littered with pens and stamps. Sakura could see the unmistakable edge of a sake cup glinting from behind the mess, and she raised a pink eyebrow but otherwise kept the observation to herself.

"So... what's up?" Tsunade prompted after a piercing silence that weighed the air like a stifling blanket.

Sakura gathered her wits and breathed in deeply through her nose. Then, she let it all out, breath and thoughts and words spilling through her lips at once.

"I'm here to resign from school."

Almost immediately, Tsunade's face blackened thunderously and Sakura almost scooted her chair back in order to distance herself from the suddenly threatening aura that surrounded the principal. Tsunade was terrifying in her own right, and Sakura had come to identify two types of rage that her mentor exhibited: the usual type that made her roar and send someone flying through the opposite wall, and this kind- the silent kind that swept over her like a storm across the blue of the sky. Quiet, yes, but it was the sort of quiet that built and built until, unexpectedly and out of nowhere, it was expelled in one explosion of destruction and sheer ruin.

Like the quiet before the end of the world.

And Tsunade was quite obviously apocalyptic.

No choice, Sakura thought with gritted teeth, and her resolve hardened. As did her grip on the armrests.

Another silence stretched between them, but not like the first. The first had been a curious pause, the simple beat before an assertion unbeknownst to the ignorant. The second was a tense, seething, breath-holding instant just before one manages to succeed in imploding the other with a mere glance.

Which Tsunade was currently attempting to do.

Sakura plowed on. She fancied she could feel her lungs beginning to collapse in on themselves.

"I know it's sudden and I know it's... well, it's unreasonable, I suppose, for lack of a, um, better word, but the point is that I just can't and I, I won't be going to school starting, well, right now, I guess, or, um, as soon as I leave, but I can't tell you why so don't ask and I don't know how to do this formally, so if you could just, uh, give me a form to fill out or something I'll just turn that in and be on my merry way, so-"

"Stop."

The one word sliced through her solid wall of rambling like a hot knife through butter.

Sakura swallowed.

Tsunade wasn't looking at her; her elbows were on the desk with her well-manicured fingers interlocked in front of her, and her honey eyes were fixed solely on them.

For a long while, the room was simply a space in which two people sat undisturbed, each tending to their own thoughts with two different kinds of burdens slung across their shoulders. Then, one spoke.

"Tomorrow," Tsunade said slowly, "tomorrow, you will come to school. And the day after that, you will also come to school. You will do the same every day for however long it takes for you to graduate." Sakura made an indignant noise of outrage and sat forward, ready to burst out in protest, but Tsunade cut her off and continued. "You will report to me at the beginning of each school day and your teachers will be informing me as to whether or not you attend your classes. If," she added darkly, "I see that you have missed even one period, I will not hesitate to contact your father and ensure that you are taken out of his care and into mine."

Sakura's mouth fell open and she could feel fury mixed with hurt and frustration boil up in her throat and rush to her head. She struggled to reign in it before she exploded, or worse, started to cry.

"Tsunade-sama," she began hotly, "I urge you to think through this rationally and-"

"No. You will do as I say or suffer the consequences. You of all people should know that I don't make empty threats. You say that you can't enlighten me as to why you requested such a thing, but just know that if it is due to financial or familial issues, or anything at all, you are always, always welcome to approach me."

And Sakura knew that Tsunade knew- or at least guessed- what had happened.

Now Tsunade was lapsing into her professional mode, which Sakura despised with all her heart. She was basically detaching herself from the problem at hand, and while Sakura knew it was so she wouldn't lose her notoriously short temper, it made it harder to talk to her about personal issues like this.

But Sakura also knew that Tsunade was being sincere. No matter what was bothering her, she was always welcome to talk to Tsunade and figure something out. But Sakura had already decided that she wouldn't. She couldn't. She knew exactly how far Tsunade would go for her, and though it made her feel better at times knowing that her mentor was always at her side, she would not allow herself to ask for such a huge commitment.

Which left her with her only option: find a way to support herself until she was eighteen years old and thus free to do whatever she so pleased.

And so Sakura stood stiffly and bowed to her godmother, whirling and walking as calmly as she could to the door. She figured that she could hold her temper for maybe 19.6 seconds longer before she let loose in a fury of lividity and wrath, and she'd prefer to be somewhere isolated before that happened.

"Wait." The command stopped Sakura short, and rage stirred within her at her inability to remark. Rather than say anything at all, she simply ground her teeth together and focused on the feeling of her fingernails digging crescent moons into her palms.

"Come see me after school ends today." Her tone radiated finality, and Sakura knew she had no choice. "Until then, go straight to your sixth period class. Feel free to leave your bags in my office."

An order, not a suggestion.

"You are dismissed."

Sakura gave a curt nod and stormed out.

* * *

Thank God I got over my writers' block. I may or may not actually know where I'm going with this story... only one way to find out!

As always, thanks to whomever is taking time out of their busy (or not-so-busy) lives to read this!

See that button down there? The one that says "R-E-V-I-E-W"? Of course you do. I dare you to click it.

Go on.

Be a man.

Or a woman. Whichever. ;)


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